A/N: I'm on the ball this time, huh? :] We're drawing to a close here; Russian Twilight starts soon.

"You never could pace yourself..." --Leroy Jethro Gibbs, Season3Ep"Under Covers"
"I have one word for you, Jethro: Positano." --Jennifer Shepard, Season3Ep"Under Covers"
"That was the week after I took a bullet!" --Leroy Jethro Gibbs, Season3Ep"Under Covers"


Jenny Shepard smiled smugly at the sight of William Decker. She lifted an eyebrow and pushed her sunglasses into her hair, making her way through the bar tables to where he sat at the bar, in flip-flops and a ridiculous Hawaiian shirt. Somehow, he fit.

She was grateful for the warmth in Positano. Sixty degrees compared with Paris's freezing temperatures was almost heaven to her.

"Cute place," Jenny remarked, perching herself on the stool next to Decker with a quizzically amused look. It looked like something out of a cheesy American Mafia movie.

Decker turned to her in surprise at being spoken to, and then grinned, reaching over to sling his arm around her shoulders and pull her into a friendly hug, shrugging nonchalantly.

"Good to see ya, Shepard!"

"Seriously, Will, it looks like a Tiki Hut."

"Ah," he sighed, waving his hand at her and holding up a very fruity looking drink with an umbrella. Jenny tilted her head at it and lifted an eyebrow. "I needed a drink."

She looked at him, rolled her eyes, and tapped her fingers on the bar for the tender, taking a vindictive pleasure in the fact that Jethro wasn't here to stop her ordering something light, fruity, and not containing bourbon.

"I know what you mean," she muttered darkly, setting her purse on the bar before her and leaning forward on crossed arms.

"Heard Gibbs took a hit," Decker said casually.

She turned her head towards him, the red hair she had pulled into a low side pony tail spilling over her shoulders and hanging to brush the bar wispily. She squinted at him in the new light from the sun at the angle and blew a few strands of hair out of her face.

"Yeah," she said, a mix of exhaustion and irritation.

"Bad?"

She blew air through her lips again, and accepted her drink from the bartender without a word in his direction.

"Not bad enough," she muttered under her breath, plucking a paper umbrella out of the way and dropping it in Decker's drink. He looked at it, raised his eyebrows, and grinned.

"That bad, huh?" he asked brightly, taking a drink of whatever he had. He whistled slowly. "Damn. I can't imagine being cooped up with Gibbs while he's injured. Must be difficult."

"That is the understatement of the freaking millennium," Jenny growled.

"Want to trade?" Decker asked good-naturedly, swiveling on his stool towards her. "Me and you, 'stead of you and Gibbs?"

Jenny smirked.

"Didn't think so," Decker said at the mocking look on her face. He smiled wickedly. "Nah, you've got reason to stick around Gibbs, eh?" he teased, wriggling his eyebrows suggestively.

Jenny rolled her eyes and lifted her glass, pushing the straw out of her way and taking a long drink from the side, eyeing the other people at the bar. Decker had made a good choice; these customers were all barely legal kids.

"You still think I've got a thing with Gibbs, Will?" she asked lightly, lowering her glass with an inquiring eye.

"You gonna tell me you don't, Red?" he asked skeptically.

"Jethro wishes," she drawled, slanting her eyes darkly. So she was pissed at him right now. It couldn't hurt to bash him a little to Decker. Even if it made poor Will think he had a chance next to Jethro.

What Jethro didn't know wouldn't hurt him…or better yet, wouldn't hurt her.

"Don't call me red," she added, giving Decker a narrow look.

"Sounded cute," he baited.

"Hmmm?" she mused sarcastically. "Sounded like a death knoll to me. Speaking of, don't we have technicalities to discuss?"

"Damn good segue," Decker snorted. "You tell me, ma'am, I'm here to be handled."

Jenny allowed him a laugh at the pun.

She was glad Decker seemed to have recovered from losing his partner not too long ago.

"I have information for you from NCIS Sigonella," she said conversationally, "Direct from Tom, it seems."

"Good. I've been waiting for it," Decker murmured. He reached down, fumbled in his pocket, and pulled out a cigarette case. Jenny looked at it distastefully.

"Do as the Romans do doesn't mean picking up disgusting habits, Will," she reprimanded.

He grinned.

"I doubt the Romans had flash drives in their cigarette cases,"

"I doubt they had cigarette cases," mused Jenny, taking the metal case from him with a smile. "What's it for?" she asked, aware there was something for her computer inside. She ran her thumb over the carved design and then slipped it into a pocket in her purse, coming out with a nail file just to look occupied.

"It's your homework," Decker said brightly, "Jethro's too. I've been working counter terrorism and intelligence since they dropped us back in Europe—arms deals and anti-government groups,"

"Which ones?" Jenny interrupted sharply. She turned alert eyes on him, ignoring the mild surprise on his face at her avid interest.

"Russian, with ties to the Italian Mafia in America, and those groups selling to terrorist groups in the Middle East. A few rogue rings like the upstarts we unraveled in Paris. The big fish is a mogul still living in the cold war—trading mostly stolen weapons. KGB connections, among others."

"Vance said you were working Intel for our next op," Jenny murmured, referring to herself and Jethro.

He lifted a shoulder, non committal.

"I've been handling an Agent in Serbia, laundering his money, orchestrating his trades. He's a real hard-headed risk taker with a few complexes. Thinks he's batman. He's tempting the Russian ring, gauging how easy it would be to infiltrate…s'pose to be bringing down a rival ring for them in Chechnya. "

Jenny frowned, sipping her drink slowly this time through the straw.

"The Intel I gathered for you on my own and from Sigonella pertains to target locations and names in Chechnya. I went a little beyond," Jenny hesitated, "I connected some of the names I recognized in the arms world to some of the French runners and tied them together."

Decker looked impressed.

"No wonder they're keeping an eye on you, Shepard," he mused. "Who made you the authority on arms dealers?"

"Call it a hobby," Jenny murmured sarcastically, looking into her drink.

Decker held up his hands as if to show surrender and went a little silent. He drank quietly next to Jenny, and looked up at her neutrally.

"Truth is, the agent they've got in pretty deep in Chechnya and Serbia works alone. It's dangerous, and we can't risk bringing down a ring using him—too easy to trace, too easy to lose an operative. Besides, he's valuable and we want to be able to keep him in Russia long after this next op goes down—"

"This agent got a name?" Jenny interrupted.

"You sound like Gibbs," Decker said, with a freaked-out look.

Jenny snorted. Wouldn't he be proud?

"Yeah, and he's gonna need his ass rescued soon. There will be more details when we finish working it out--Callan. Name's G Callan."

"G?" Jenny repeated.

Decker nodded. She sighed patronizingly.

"What does the G stand for, Will?"

"I don't know." She glared at him. "What? I don't! He claims he doesn't know!"

"Oh, lovely, another smart-ass," Jenny muttered.

"You really aren't getting along with Gibbs, are you?" Decker asked gleefully.

"Do you want that umbrella shoved up your nostril?"

"Er, no?"

Jenny gave him a pointed look, and he shut his trap. She reached into her purse and pulled out a disc, enclosed neatly in a CD case advertising The Village People. She smiled sweetly as she handed it to Decker.

"Your Intel,"

"Aw, come on, Shepard," he groaned, looking at the half-dressed cop, Native American, and handy-man—among others.

"I knew you'd love it," Jenny sighed. She laughed and took another drink of whatever she had ordered, she didn't remember now. It tasted too sickly-sweet in her mouth, and she cursed the fact that she didn't have a taste for this frilly stuff after months and months of bourbon.

"Hey," Decker said, looking at her seriously, "You and Gibbs have to know that information, on the flash drive, like it's your own lives, understand? It's vital. This time you're both going in deep and there won't be room for missteps."

Jenny nodded curtly. It was irrational to feel as excited as she did about what seemed like a pending arms operation, but she couldn't help it. She'd almost had her end game thrown directly into her lap.

"I'll be in touch next week," Decker mumbled, he had his phone out and was checking a missed call. "Day or so after Christmas, with direct orders. In the mean time, keep up your side of the Intel."

"Hey," Jenny said lightly, "I'm in charge here."

Decker smirked, closing his phone.

"And I'm late for a drink with Senorita Catalina," he said, raising his brows again.

Jenny closed her mouth over her straw and flicked her hand at him to shoo him away, smiling teasingly in his direction. He spun off the stool and slid sunglasses over his eyes, leering at her.

"Will," she called absently, as an afterthought. So it didn't look quite pre-mediated, she spoke through her straw, casually.

"Keep your ears open for the name Rene Benoit," she said lightly, "Slimy bastard in the arms business."

Decker nodded, saluted her, and then used his hand to blow a kiss. Jenny stuck her heel-clad foot out and kicked him in the knee. He grinned and sauntered off, his phone at his ear. Jenny heard him greet someone on the other line with a ridiculous line as he disappeared in the crowd.

She turned back to the bar with a grin, taking her time to finish her drink. Jethro was having a hard time handling the fact that she had an assignment to cover while he healed. Not that he was healing. She shouldn't have to force him to let her help change a bandage more than twice a day, and he sure as hell shouldn't be harboring a perpetual fever.

It was good to be out and away from the tension. The fact that he was as sexually frustrated as she was wasn't really helping matters, but she refused to contribute to the derailing of his healing process. From the sound of it, she was going to need him in perfect condition for their next assignment.

She was staring at her glass, contemplating treating herself to another drink, when it suddenly occurred to her Decker had left and she was paying for the bill. She narrowed her eyes at her nearly empty glass and changed her mind, deciding to track down Decker instead and tell this Senorita Catalina that he had Herpes.

She tapped the counter for the bartender, her fingers lingering in her purse for her wallet, when the Italian man turned around, looked at her raised eyebrow, and then shook his head.

"American?" he asked tentatively, in a thick accent.

She nodded.

"You drink," he gestured, as if unsure she understood his English, "It is taken care of. "

Jenny raised her eyebrows in surprise.

"Oh is it?" she asked sweetly. "By whom?"

The man grinned and pointed down the bar. Jenny tilted her head in that direction, sharp eyes following the line he pointed. A relatively attractive man gave her a charming smile from a few seats down and she returned the smirk dangerously, noticing that the woman sitting next to him—with her hand on his thigh—was oblivious to what was going on.

Jenny stood gracefully and slung her purse over her shoulder fluidly, waltzing over to the man. His girlfriend, chattering rapidly in Italian, fell silent immediately and narrowed her eyes.

"Francaise?" she asked in French.

"Si," the woman answered levelly, in unison with Jenny's drink buyer. Jenny smiled wickedly.

Jenny leaned close to the gentlemen, her eyes glinting dangerously, and spoke softly in perfect French.

"Thanks for the drink," she purred, turning to the woman and touching her under the chin, "but you're not really my type." She winked at the girl just to add suggestion and turned on her heel, smiling at the sharp smack she heard behind her.

She flicked her sunglasses down over her eyes again when she reached the busy streets of Positano, shielding her eyes from the sun. A few boutiques caught her eye and she veered towards them without hesitation. If she wasn't buying her drink, why not spend the money on something pretty?

Perhaps she'd let Jethro see it if he decided to play nice later.

She moseyed around in a lingerie shop, debating whether or not he deserved it. Running her fingers through silk, lace, and leather, she contemplated ways to use it against him. The Italian brands were nice, though flimsy, but her lingerie never lasted long with him anyway. Something for Christmas, maybe?

She placed a fuzzy Santa hat on top of her head and smirked, wrinkling her nose.

Speaking of Christmas…she mused, placing the hat delicately back where she'd found it. The stern looking sales-woman was watching her like a hawk. Jenny sauntered over to the stockings and considered them, her head tilted. Unconventional, maybe, but Jethro would approve—though they definitely weren't for hanging over the fireplace.

On second thought, he wouldn't like the buckles. He'd have trouble with them.

Jenny snickered to herself, easily amused by considering ways to frustrate him. She settled for a small bottle of scented massage oil by the counter, more for her benefit than his. She deserved it, once he woke up and realized what an ass he'd been lately.

The next shop sported bathing suits in the window, advertising low prices. Christmas seemed an odd time to still have swim attire out, but it was rather warm here, and Jenny admitted to herself that she wasn't going to pass up a swim in the ocean down in front of their villa.

She couldn't decide—there was a tempting army green bikini, low cut around the hips and stringy at the top; or a similarly cut crimson on that she thought might flatter her better up top. It took a good ten minutes of debating before she decided the red would look better wet, and bought it from the young salesman, who kept glancing from it to her surreptitiously.

Stepping back out to the streets, she checked the time on her phone. No calls from Jethro, but she was willing to be he was storming around the villa (if not Italy itself) growling for her. She was sure he was bored out of his mind with no one to yell at.

She deliberately steered herself away from shoe stores. She had too many shoes. She had spent twenty minutes trying to compel all of them to fit into her suitcase. It didn't help that she'd bought three pairs in Paris, and one pair in London.

She wasn't ready to return yet. She wanted to relax a little more, and maybe then she could keep her cool the next time Jethro picked a fight with her. She was doing pretty well, just walking out of the room when he snapped at her. He was snapping at her for everything, though.

For God's sake, he'd snapped at her for leaving a cup of coffee in the sink. That had actually made her laugh.

Closer to their villa, she took interest in shops targeted more at men. Mildly interested, she found her way into one that seemed like a Tiffany's for men, full of watches and other like items. She spent a few minutes poking around cologne. Skeptical, she sampled one entitled Woodwork and crinkled her nose, replacing it. It smelled nothing like him.

She didn't think she was interested in anything until she came across a case full of pocket items, among them leather wallets, high-end beepers, and crafted knives. She paused, her eyes on a sleek black switchblade with silver trim.

The salesman noticed her in all of five seconds and oozed over, his eyes glinting with the prospect of selling something. She was already interested, and asked him politely about it. He spoke English well, with a clipped, professional accent, and launched into a list of merits of the product.

Jenny listened, looking at the switchblade carefully. Jethro's was old; the handle was chipped, there was a nick in the blade. She knew he'd love this.

"Did you say you can have it engraved?" Jenny murmured, looking up. She rested her hand on the glass. The man nodded eagerly.

"May I see it?" she asked. The man opened the case from behind and carefully handed her the knife, nestled in a neatly kept handkerchief.

Jenny ran her fingers over the smooth surface, gingerly touching the blade and examining the flash of her reflection in it. She smirked slowly.

She spoke shortly with the salesman, instructing what she wanted engraved on it, and paid in cash for what she'd decided was Jethro's Christmas present. When it was handed to her half an hour later, after she'd looked at everything in the shop twice, she thanked the salesman warmly and tucked the cedar wood box into her purse carefully.

It wouldn't kill her to go home now.

It was fading into late afternoon, and she didn't think it smart to be out after dark. She headed back slowly anyhow, enjoying the light breeze and the laughter and conversation of the people.

Walking up the gravelly path towards the villa, she looked around at the vacationing and native families, most of them chasing children around and keeping them from getting in trouble. She pulled her hair from its fastener and ran her fingers through it, shaking it over her shoulders.

Jenny fished her key out of her purse when she reached the door and inserted it in the lock, turning it. When she reached down to open the door, it didn't budge. Frowning, she jiggled it harder, and then grudgingly realized she'd just locked the door.

"Dammit, Jethro," she muttered loudly, letting loose a string of curses under her breath.

"What was that, Jen?" he asked sternly, and she squeaked in surprise as the door flew open and she lost her balance, having been leaning against it while she went to unlock it for real. She steadied herself and glared at him.

"You need to keep the damn door locked. We're not in DC," she reprimanded in a grumble, stomping through the door. He pushed it closed behind her.

She heard the loud, forceful clicking of the lock.

"Happy?" he asked mockingly.

"No," she answered petulantly, slipping her heels off by the door with a darker glare. So he was going to start right where they'd left off.

"You don't take this seriously," she snapped.

"Christ," she heard him mutter. "Decker didn't do much for your mood."

"My mood?" she scoffed, pausing in her movements and looking at him as if he were crazy. He gave her a scowl and she bit her tongue, blowing out air in irritation and pushing her hands through her hair. "Right. Okay, Jethro," she appeased sarcastically, dropping her purse next to her shoes.

She left him in the foyer, stalking into the kitchen.

"Oh, look who's coffee cup is in the sink now," she mocked loudly, rolling her eyes. This was getting to be too much.

"Yours looked lonely," was the smart ass reply from another room. Jenny snorted, flicking on the faucet and letting hot water run over the twin coffee cups that now had dried junk in them. She washed out the cups and, with a lot of unnecessary slamming replaced them in cupboards.

"What did Decker have to say?" Jethro asked, from a far closer distance this time. She looked up from the sink she'd been staring at and blinked. She shrugged.

"We've got a big play coming up. There's a lot of stealth an Intel involved," she told him neutrally. Her eyes snapped sharply onto his. "You need to be in shape. Recovered properly," she told him.

She saw his jaw tighten and braced herself.

"I'm recovering fine."

"Still have that fever?" she asked, concern not quite hidden. She noticed he was holding himself awkwardly; he was clearly hurting. He was either not on pain meds right now because they made him sleep or the amount he was taking wasn't cutting it anymore.

He glared at her from his spot.

"I'm serious, Jethro," she said quietly.

"No, you're ridiculous," he growled. "How many times do I have to tell you I'm fine to get you off my back?"

"You're not fine, Jethro, you're injured and you're letting yourself get sick because you won't balance pain medication and rest. You just think you can do whatever the hell you want and nothing's going to hurt you—"

"Dammit, Jenny, I know what my limits are!"

"No, Jethro, I don't think you do," she said sharply. "You toss through fevers at night and crunch painkillers all day, and you know your limits? That wound is going to get infected because you're such a stubborn bastard, and you won't listen to a goddamn word I say—"

"All you do is nag, Jen!" he barked, and Jenny widened her eyes in surprise. "You're starting to sound like Diane—I'm starting to feel like I'm married again because you won't shut the hell up!"

Her eyes narrowed considerably at the comparison.

"You don't understand you—you," she was suddenly so angry she could barely find the appropriate words to express it.

"I'm trying to help you, Jethro! Why don't you understand that?"

"I don't need help! I am fine, Goddammit—leave me the hell alone and stop treating me like an invalid!"

"How does your own medicine taste, Jethro?" she shouted sarcastically, stepping up to him. Her eyes flashed angrily. "It's maddening to be treated like you need to be protected and taken care of, isn't it?"

He stared at her stonily. He didn't realize how close to tears she was underneath the anger.

"I never smothered you like this!"

"You hypocrite!" she yelled.

She threw her hands up in frustration and smacked a palm down on the counter next to the sink, looking at him in disbelief.

"You're an arrogant, stubborn, chauvinistic bastard you know that, Jethro?"

"And you can be a real self-righteous, sneaking little bitch when you want to, Jen," he fired back lividly.

Jenny looked like she'd been smacked, her cheeks went so white. She locked her jaw and swallowed hard, her eyes going blank of emotion for a split second before the rage shone through again.

His anger abated a little. He shouldn't have called her that. It had obviously done the trick, but he hadn't meant for it to sting so much. She pushed herself violently away from the sink and bit her lip, as if holding something back.

"You don't know how much you make me hate you sometimes," she snarled, and he could hear the injury in her voice because he knew she wasn't trying to hide it. She went to shove past him, her shoulder hitting him roughly, purposefully, in her attempt to get out.

Jethro leapt back and lurched to the side to catch her, preventing her from leaving, his arm wrapping around hers. She wrenched his hand away with her fingernails and he stepped back, glaring, twisting to hold his other arm out, so they could finish this for good. The angle sent a stinging burn through his abdomen and up his spine, like someone had poured salt directly into his wound, and he flinched, bending forward, a grunt of pain escaping his teeth.

"Jethro?" he heard her ask, the pitch of her voice going up in worry. She leaned over, her hands fluttering at his side, pulling his shirt up.

"You're bleeding," she said softly, her hands running over the thin bandages. He squeezed his eyes shut, pushing through the pain in his head, counting to ten. Jen's fingers were soothing against his skin. She sighed in frustration. "Goddammit, Jethro, why do you do this? Why don't---"

Sick of it, he smacked her hand away, more roughly than me meant to. Jenny pulled away as if she'd been burned. He looked up at her in contrition and she looked back, her hair falling around her face wildly, and for a minute there was nothing but crackling electricity. He considered it briefly, but he knew this wasn't going to be fixed with a kiss.

Slowly, she spoke, looking briefly defeated, and very hurt. Her voice was hoarse.

"Why won't you let me help you?"

He knew she didn't mean any harm. He was frustrated. He didn't want to display weakness with her around—with anyone around. She just cared, and that was why it was so hard.

He straightened up, his hand over the bandage, looking at her coldly. He didn't say anything.

"Why are you doing this, why do you treat me like this?" she demanded, her volume rising. The anger was back in her eyes. It seemed to be shining brighter every time, maybe because she was getting more upset and he knew she was trying not to cry.

"Jen—"

"Don't," she interrupted, sounding desperate, "Don't Jethro! I watch you bleed! I lay next to you while you're tossing and turning at night! I know you're hurting, it's not like I don't know it hurts like hell! Why don't you understand I'm trying to help and I don't fucking care if you have to lay in bed because you're injured—didn't you tell me that weakness and injury are different? Does that only apply to me because I'm your fragile damsel in distress? I hate that you do this to yourself because you---you're stubborn, or self-destructive, or just an asshole—it has to stop, Jethro! You have to let me in!"

It was all coming out now. He listened to her quietly, watching her facial expressions and the movement of her shoulders and muscles as she yelled, pleading with him.

"I can't do this, Jethro! It's like you—you resent me, you don't want me around—you can't be bothered to understand how this is affecting me, that would be too selfless for you."

"What's bothering you, Jen?" he asked quietly. He narrowed his eyes and squinted slightly, studying her. She looked so tired, so distressed. He knew he was being a cranky bastard but there was more than just that.

"YOU ARE!" she screamed.

"No," he shook his head, "You lay awake at night too. You blaming yourself? Come on, Jen, what is it? Talk."

"Shut-up. Just shut-up! Why should I talk to you, you don't give a damn!"

He moved towards her. She looked at him fiercely, as if daring him to try and touch her.

"I want you to be okay, Jethro! Do you GET THAT?"

"I am okay!"

"You're not! Dammit, you smug bastard—"

"Jen," he said sharply, "What is wrong with you?"

"I can't sleep!" she broke, reaching out as if to tell him to stop moving closer. Her eyes fell to his side, where blood had stained through his t-shirt a little. "I have nightmares about it, about you—you covered in blood, and my fath—" she broke off, catching herself, swallowing, glaring at him through a misty haze of tears. "And I wake up, and you push me away."

"You have nightmares about me?" he asked, his brows coming together. He was confused, frustrated. "Jenny, for god's sake, I'm fine. I'm alive. Jesus."

She shook her head disbelievingly.

"I almost lost you."

"You didn't. You shouldn't let it get to you, its part of the job. Nightmares," he murmured towards the end. "Why?" he asked, as if trying to understand.

Her lip shook and she bit it to keep it steady.

"You took a bullet for me," she whispered hoarsely. He looked at her stonily. "You took a bullet for me!" she yelled, her voice catching. "That's not supposed to scare the hell out of me? Keep me up at night? Jethro you—you—and then you treat me like I don't care enough about you to deserve to take care of you!"

He just pulled back a little. He didn't want to talk about it. He hadn't thought about it when he stepped in front of her. He'd just known the trajectory, with their height difference, would have hit her too close to the heart where it ripped through his side instead.

"Do you understand now?" she asked softly, as if she couldn't yell anymore.

"Jenny," he sighed, shaking his head. He was frustrated. She couldn't just let him be. He tried to understand how she was feeling—and he did, but it was hard. It was hard to let her take care of him. "Jenny, let it go."

"You don't get it, Jethro," she hissed, "You don't. You don't know how I feel right now because you wouldn't ask me about it to save your life. I'm angry and upset, and confused. I want to make you stop hurting, but you won't let me touch you! When you jumped in front of me, you scared the hell out of me. I just want to help," she pleaded tiredly.

In desperate frustration, he replied:

"I don't need help, I don't want you to help! I want you to act normal! Laugh! I can take care of myself! Don't walk on eggshells around me, dammit, Jenny, act like Jen and not my mother or Ducky, or god forbid Diane,"

She looked at him in dejection, like she was trying to figure out if she'd liked what he said or not. She pressed her lips together and swallowed, and he thought it was going to be okay for a minute.

She shook her head and brought her hand up to cover her eyes. She tucked hair behind her ears with the other hand. Jenny's shoulders shook and she started to cry, removing her hand from her face and looking away from him.

He winced. He'd never seen her do this before, cry because he'd verbally upset her or because they were fighting. He'd seen her cry from pain, exhaustion, or anger. This was different. She was sad.

Jenny left the room before he could swallow and register the feeling of emptiness that washed over him. He turned towards the door.

"Jenny," he croaked in a half-hearted yell, sighing.

He turned and slammed both fists onto the counter, ignoring the acute pain in his side at the violent action.

He didn't even think as he stormed into the hall and jammed his feet into shoes. He barely remembered to grab his cell phone, just in case, before he left, shutting the door quietly, though it took all his willpower not to slam it. He jerked on a windbreaker over his blood stained t-shirt and zipped it up, blinking in the balmy Italian wind.

He kicked gravel, swallowing his guilt, and walking off in the fading sunlight of afternoon, to cool off and to think.


It bothered him that Jenny was at the villa crying.

He knew that if he was there, he would only make it worse. He didn't know what to say. He didn't have the right wiring to calm her or soother her when he wasn't even sure what she wanted to hear him say. He knew he wanted her to stop crying, and sleep.

Clouds had ousted the sun from the sky now, and it was considerably colder without them. It wasn't cool enough to bother him, but the streets were getting a little emptier. It was nearing sundown and supper time. He'd left an hour ago, and wandered aimlessly.

His thoughts were on Jenny and the way he'd acted. He hadn't wanted to make her think he didn't want her around. He just despised her hovering like he was about to fall apart when he really didn't think he was in that bad of a shape. He'd been through worse in the Gulf and in Desert Storm.

But then, she didn't know about Desert Storm.

He knew she had an instinct to nurture, it was a woman thing, but she really had driven him crazy thinking he didn't know what he could handle. He did. At least he thought he did, but after that fight he wasn't quite sure. It bothered him she was having nightmares about it. He didn't understand why it was so traumatic, he was fine.

Yet, the more he walked around, the worse he felt for the way he'd treated her. He couldn't shake the look on her face at hearing herself called a bitch. She made him so angry it was hard to rein it in sometimes, and he was sure he did the same to her.

She'd done so much lately, dealing with Vance, helping handle Decker's op while they were here, not to mention the stunts she'd pulled off before. He didn't appreciate her enough sometimes. He could tell her more. He could tell her he loved her more, but he didn't want it to lose its meaning. And it was hard to say it, even if he already had. Every time he let the words slip past his lips, it was like pushing Shannon's memory further away.

And Jenny was even more reserved about saying it. She wasn't like other woman, women like Diane, who'd thrown 'I love you' around like 'Hello' and 'Goodbye'. She was nothing like them. Jenny was like him.

Which is why, he thought in frustration, he should understand her emotions better.

He grunted in irritation under his breath and turned onto another street, his walk stiff and slow. The cold wasn't exactly comfortable for his wound. Trying to think of anything else, he let his eyes roam over the service shops and stores on this street, looking for anything interesting.

He stopped in his tracks outside of one, glancing studiously at a leather coat displayed on a mannequin in the window. Without checking the name of the store, he walked in through the glass doors, throwing a cursory look at the various other coats inside before he found the rack holding the ones that had caught his interest.

He ran his hand along the butter-soft leather, his eyebrows going up at how good it felt to the touch. It was long, like a navy pea coat, but infinitely more feminine and delicate. Shrugging, he flicked through the coats, just to see if Jenny's size was present.

He pulled the appropriate coat out and held it up, frowning as he pictured it on her. She needed a damn coat, that he knew. It was something he could do for her. She'd like the creamy, off-white color and the smooth chocolate brown buttons. Trying to numb his mind, he bought the leather coat, and watched silently as the woman at the counter folded it expertly and settled it into a box filled with filmy tissue paper.

Price didn't even occur to him. Nothing was too expensive for Jenny.

With the box under his arm, he relaxed a little, focusing on the throb that was starting in his side instead of his plight with Jenny. She'd be amused if she knew he was out shopping. The thought of the mocking look on her face made him smile slightly.

It was getting dark, and the streets emptier still. He turned and headed back to the villa the long way, wanting to give her time. He didn't know what he'd face when he returned; a silent and cold Jenny or one who'd yet to re-appear. All in all, he wasn't sure where they stood now.

On a whim, as he passed a vendor selling flowers, he backtracked, stopping the woman as she closed and looking. He took it as a good sign that she had some of the biggest orchids he'd ever seen, and purchased a couple. The woman smiled at him, as if she thought it was sweet he was taking flowers to someone.

She had no idea.

Flowers in hand, he went home, thinking that it was damn lucky he had a good memory or he wouldn't be able to get back in the dark. The families that had made so much noise were in the house now, except for a few stray kids ignoring calls to come in for dinner. No one paid attention to them; the three villas surrounding theirs were empty and they were a little secluded from the families.

He was in the villa when he grudgingly accepted her needed to do something about his wound. He went up the stairs to the open expanse that led to a patio and put the coat in the one closet up there that they weren't using before he came back down stairs and went through the bedroom into the marble bathroom.

He dug out the first aid kit Jenny had and pulled off his shirt, taking off the bandages swiftly. They resisted in dried blood and he bit his tongue when he jerked them off, ignoring the brief sting. He was bleeding again. The edges of the bullet hole were scarred and bruised from where they'd been cauterized and the wound itself looked red and inflamed.

He ran a washcloth under warm water and dabbed rubbing alcohol over it, sucking in his breath through the pain. Once he had the bleeding stopped, he smeared some of the antiseptic Jenny had bought over it and taped over it loosely with a rough bandage, finding a long sleeved button up shirt to pull on over him. He winced at the movement but neglected to take any pain medicine.

Jenny would be able to dress the wound better. He'd had the least trouble with it the one time she'd forced him to let her. He groaned and rubbed his forehead, listening for her. He didn't think she was in the house.

He got out his cell phone and pushed speed-dial one. From the bedroom, Jenny's phone started ringing. He leaned against the bathroom door and watched it light up on the bed. He didn't even have the heart to get angry because she was unreachable. He was more concerned with where she was.

He trudged out of the bedroom and into the open, airy sitting room at the back of the villa that looked over the cliffs. He stared at the appearing stars and moon, and the rolling water, until he noticed someone standing on the beach.

He watched uncertainly for a minute. She sat down, leaned back, and sat motionless, watching the ocean roll. He knew it was Jenny. She'd stayed within sight deliberately, so she wouldn't have to take her phone. Frowning, he returned to the bedroom, picked up a blanket because he thought she might be cold, and threw his phone on the bed next to hers.

He had the flowers in his hand when he left out the back door, fully prepared to let her yell at him and smother him for climbing down cliffs with a bullet wound if she wanted to.

The sand was a lot easier on him than the loose rocks were, and it was cool and soothing when he got to it. He didn't try to sneak up on Jenny; he walked towards her purposefully, not even knowing what he was going to say.

She sat up and her head moved towards him a little when he got close. Without a word, Jethro dropped the blanket around her shoulders, sitting down next to her with a grunt. He wrapped his hands around his knees loosely and looked straight ahead.

After a few minutes of silence, he brushed her leg gently with the orchids.

"I thought," he said slowly, just feeling around in his head and picking words slowly, "these might help my case."

Jenny reached down and touched one of the petals gingerly, staying still. He caught the scent of her shampoo as she turned her head towards him a little. She was listening.

"Then I figured it would be better to just say," he swallowed and looked over at her to find her watching him. "I'm sorry, Jenny," he apologized hesitantly.

She took the flowers from him without looking and brought them closer to her face, smiling a little.

"For taking the bullet?" she joked weakly, her voice hoarse from crying.

Jethro snorted. He might have made it sound that way.

He put and arm around her and pulled her head towards him, kissing her forehead and then her cheek.

"For being a bastard," he murmured in her ear, pressing his temple into hers.

"You can't help it," she murmured back, and he smiled. Jenny had a good sense of humor. She shifted a little closer to him and he knew he'd been right in thinking she was cold. Jenny put her head on his shoulder. "I'm going to make you say it again, Jethro."

"I'm sorry," he murmured sincerely. Jenny nodded. She pulled the blanket around her and put her hand on his leg, curling into his side.

"I love you, Jen. Rule fifty-one," he told her, smirking. Being silly. He kissed her hair again.

"Yeah?" she said softly, her voice shaking a little. "Don't break that one, okay?"

He laughed, deep in his throat, and Jenny ran her hand over his leg caressingly. He sat with his arm around her while she admired the ocean with the orchids under her nose; glad he'd been able to do something. He felt better now. Except for all of her weight pressing into his bullet wound.

"Jenny," he said gruffly, after leaving her alone for a few minutes. "You're…hurting m—"

She had pulled away before he could finish his sentence.

"You're bleeding again," she murmured, looking up at him. She didn't say anything else. She looked at him like she was waiting to have her head bitten off. Wonderful, he thought, I've killed her spirit.

"Yeah, uh," he muttered, looking down and then back up at her. He raised an eyebrow. "Anything you can do to fix that?"

Jenny pulled the blanket off of her shoulders and draped it over one arm, standing up slowly. She nodded her head towards the villa. Jethro grabbed her wrist and pulled her down as he pulled himself up, smirking at her. He slung his arm around her shoulders, leaning into her.

He raised his eyebrows when he realized she'd made their way to a path back up to the villa.

"There's a path," he grunted in interest.

"Yes—do not tell me you climbed down the cliff, Leroy Jethro Gibbs."

"Well, I—"

"Seriously. If you did, I do not want to know," she muttered, sounding patronized. She sounded more confident now, at least.

He suppressed a grin and remained silent on the walk back to the villa.

"Come in here," she sighed, pulling him towards the bedroom. She flicked on the light and her brow furrowed when she noticed the first aid kit was already out. She gestured, and he sat down on the edge of the bath tub.

"Take your shirt off," she murmured, coming over to him.

"I've really missed hearing that," he quipped, tossing it at her. Jenny caught it with a more genuine smile and dropped it, kneeling on it so the stone floor wouldn't hurt her knees. She took hold of the haphazard bandage he'd put on and peeled it off, sighing when she saw the less-than-healed state of him.

"God, Jethro, what have you done to yourself," she murmured, and he chose not to respond.

She pulled the first aid kit down to the floor with her and pushed Jethro's knees apart. She reached behind him and turned on the bath faucet, kneeling between his legs so she could easily reach his side.

She just started cleaning it with soap and warm water first, rubbing gently. It barely even hurt her ministrations were so soft.

"Deck's gotten over it," she said quietly, pushing a lock of hair behind her ear, "Olivia. He's okay. He's working Intel for our next play," her voice was gentle and steady; soothing. "The Op focuses on arms rings, counter-terrorism. Russia." He'd never really realized how much he liked her to talk to him, just to hear her voice.

He just listened. He knew she was talking for herself, so he didn't have to.

"Close your mouth," she murmured, pouring alcohol onto the rag to sterilize the wound. He did as he was told so he wouldn't end up flinching and biting his tongue. Jenny touched the rag gingerly. The sting wasn't so bad the way she did it, and she did it quickly.

She held the washcloth to him, soaked in warm water, for sixty seconds, her eyes roaming up his chest to his face.

"Decker made a few jokes about us," she said, mildly amused, as she looked back to his wound and pulled the washcloth away, drying him off and then picking up the antiseptic gel. "Managed to convince him we weren't sleeping together," she murmured.

"Funny, you convinced me too," Jethro muttered.

Jenny smiled in spite of it all and pushed one hand into his chest as a reprimanding shove. She rubbed the antiseptic gel over his wound lightly, and not too thick.

"I don't want you bleeding all over me," she murmured teasingly, fanning her hand to dry the gel a little. She glanced up at him again. "It would do more damage than good, Jethro."

"Speak for yourself," he grumbled, touching her face. "Jen, when you fractured those ribs—"

She shook her head.

"It was different," she mumbled. He raised an eyebrow. "I knew my limits. You," she paused, as if struggling with the words. "That night. You needed it."

He let that accusation slide. He remembered that night vaguely. He'd been sure he'd called out for Shannon, but she hadn't said a word about it, and he doubted Jenny would let something like that slide. None of the others had.

"Okay, and on the counter in your kitchen?" he prompted. Jenny looked down to his side, her eyes flicking at him surreptitiously, and she picked up adhesive gauze, pressing it tight over his wound.

"Jethro," she murmured exasperation in her voice. She covered the gauze with a bandage that was sturdy and tough, and stuck flat.

He ran his hand over her cheek and pushed her head back, looking down at her. She sighed and relaxed back, resting one hand on his knee, the washcloth forgotten on the side of the bathtub.

"Hypocrite," he accused, with a small smirk.

Boldly, he reached down, took the hem of her sweater, and pulled it up over her head, dropping it to the floor with his button down.

Her soft-eyed look hardened into a mild glare at the slight. She reached out and took hold of his waist with her hands, running the pads of her fingers over his skin. She leaned forward and kissed his chest, her height on her knees perfect. Her warm lips lingered on his sternum, his ribcage, close to his wound and then his navel. Jethro threaded his fingers into her hair, his hand on the back of her head, and closed his eyes, biting back a groan.

Her fingers pulled gently at the waist of his jeans, slipping over the material until she found the button. He felt her tongue against his navel; her hand on the muscles toned in his lower abs, and pushed his fingers through her hair. She paused at the motion, raised her eyes to him, leaning into his chest.

"That's not what I want," he said quietly.

He stood up, and Jenny wrapped her fingers around his wrist, letting him take her with him. She laced her fingers through his, squeezed, and ran her hand up his arm to his neck, touching the hair at the nape lightly.

He grasped her slim waist in one hand and curved her into him. Jenny didn't fight him. She leaned forward and kissed his throat, her tongue tracing his collar bone, sensual and slow.

"Want me to throw the orchid petals on the bed?" he asked gruffly. Jenny laughed, and pulled back, pulling his arm.

She followed him into the bedroom and he took her and pushed her down first, crawling over her like he had when they'd first arrived a few nights ago. Jenny reached up to place her palms against his chest, forgoing contact but to kiss for the moment.

She let him run his tongue along her lips, coax her mouth open, nip at her with his teeth. He savored the taste of her mouth like it had been years, kissing until he couldn't breathe and then some. He slipped a hand under her back, unsnapped her bra, and pulled the straps down, letting her get them off of her arms. She stretched an arm out behind her on the bed, running the backs of her knuckles down his face and over his shoulder as he lowered his mouth to her breasts.

"Mmm," she murmured, hooking her toes into the cavity in the back of his jeans and tugging gently with her foot. She braced her heel against his back and moved his jeans down as much as she could before he sat back; stepping off the bed to get rid of them himself. He dropped jeans and boxers and ran his hands up her legs slowly, unfastening the button on her jeans and sliding them off her hips, his thumbs hooked into her panties.

She shook them off of her ankles as he pulled and dropped them to the floor; Jenny sat forward and shifted position on the bed. Jethro crawled back over her, his hand dragging up her body slowly. Jenny wrapped one of her legs around his, her hand running down his chest between them.

"Jen," he groaned, lowering his head to her shoulder when she encircled his length, scraping his teeth against her shoulder. Jenny wrapped her hand around his bicep and pressed her mouth to his neck. She wrapped a leg around his waist, putting pressure into his back with her heel, her hand still running over him, teasing.

He cupped her breast in one hand, running his thumb over her nipple until she arched towards him with a quiet moan. His breath hitched in his throat at her touch and he breathed out slowly, trying to keep control. He thrust towards her, against her, and Jenny gasped, pushing her head back into the pillows.

"Jethro," she breathed, swallowing. The movement of her throat lured him towards her; he kissed her neck, sucking lightly. "Jethro," she said again, her throat moving under his lips. He pulled back and looked at her, his forehead close to hers, his breathing growing ragged.

"I don't want to hurt you," she touched his face gently.

"Jen," he groaned, half-laughing. He ran his hand over hers between them and pulled it away, lacing his fingers into hers and pinning her arm to the pillow. He moved his other hand to her leg, pushing it up, holding it against his hip.

"Honey, the last thing I'm worried about is pain," he muttered, pressing his lips to hers quickly as he entered her in one swift movement. He watched her pupils contract and her eyes flutter; she drew her bottom lip into her mouth and closed her eyes.

Jenny arched her back, seeking contact with his hips as he moved. She drew her fingers out of his and ran her hand over his chest; he braced his arm next to her shoulder, listening to her breathing quicken, the moans in the back of her throat.

She touched his neck, and ran the tips over her fingers over his lips; Jethro was out of breath. His abdomen was protesting the movement but he really, really didn't think he had the will power to stop.

"Jethro?" she moaned, her eyes opening. It was a question he didn't answer. His abdomen clenched and he ground out her name between clenched teeth, finding it hard to exercise control. Wrapping his arm tightly around her waist, he ignored her sharp hiss of pain and upset her position, pulling her on top of him.

She gasped, surprised, her hands falling against his shoulders. He ran his hands up her arms and down her chest and stomach, finding the sensitive heat at her centre and caressing her.

"Jethro!" she cried sharply, her lips parting, her body shuddering around him. He pulled her hips down against him hard and she followed his lead, pushed over the edge by his hand, moaning as she dipped her forehead against his chest while he came, lost in her own release.

He stroked his hand over her thigh as she collapsed against his chest, pushing her hair out of her face with one shaking hand. She pressed a kiss to his chest and stayed still, listening to his heart beat. She couldn't really help it. She grinned.

"Wipe that smirk off your face," he growled, tugging a strand of her hair.

Jenny muffled a giggle in his chest. She languidly lifted her head and pressed a sympathetic, swift kiss to his parted lips, her tongue darting out to tease him, as she eased herself off of him and laid next to him, resting her head on his sweaty shoulder. She bit her lip, debating whether or not to tease him.

He deserved it.

"Leave some of your stamina in Paris, Jethro?" she asked quietly, and squealed when he pinched her side. She laughed into his neck and snuggled closer, her hot skin starting to cool in the breezy Italian night.

"You're satisfied," he muttered, running a hand below her belly. She gasped and pushed his hand away, a shiver running through her spine, too sensitive to be touched. She suppressed a smirk and kissed his shoulder lovingly, reaching across his chest with one arm to thread fingers into the hair there.

She wrinkled her nose with suppressed mirth and kissed his shoulder again, a wicked smile playing across her lips.

"Who was it you said needed to pace themselves…?"

"I just took a bullet!" he growled, on the defensive instantly.

Jenny rubbed her hand over his heartbeat, and trailed her fingers down to the expert job she'd done dressing his wound. She felt his fingers tangle into her hair and pulled it back over her shoulders, spreading it onto the pillows.

Lazily, Jenny brought her finger up to run in circles over Jethro's chest. She slowly traced her name on his skin, and propped herself up on one arm. Jethro stroked her shoulder, glaring at her when he caught the glint in her eye.

She heard a warning growl in the back of his throat and leaned over to shut his whiny butt up with a kiss. She hooked a leg over him and straddled his hips again, resting her elbows on his chest and looking at him with pursed lips, her hair spilling over one shoulder. She leaned down and kissed him slowly, pulling his bottom lip between her teeth and sucking gently, her eyes on his. She pressed kisses from the corner of his mouth to his jaw and nipped his ear with her teeth, smirking.

"I bet," she said silkily, in a purring whisper, "you'd last longer in a hot bath," she licked her lips, brushing his ear as she spoke. His muscles pulled tight under her thighs and he stroked the inside of her thigh. She closed her eyes and bit her lip, holding back a whimper.

"You're on," he growled, his deep voice husky in her ear.


Note: I am aware there are only 50 rules, as stated by Gibbs (to Kate, I believe). Rule 51 is mine!